Long Roads
by CaptivatingSky
Summary: Annie MacGillivray's family has been taken by Williamson's gang, and she sets off to get them  and her life  back. Along the way, she encounters a fellow soul on the quest for redemption - will the two find the peace they've been searching for?
1. Prologue

Hey there! I'd love to hear some feedback on Annie, or just on the idea of the story in general. I know there isn't much here now, but I prefer to develop plots as I go. Anyways, let me know what you think!

RDR is owned by Rockstar, not me. 3

**Prologue – _When the Going Gets Tough_**

Here she was, getting herself into trouble again.

Annie MacGillivray cringed, leaning against the thick-grained wood wall with her gloved hand hovering above her Schofield. Her hands tensed as a rouse of voices from outside of her family's farmhouse shattered the silence.

They were here for her.

"C'mon out sweetheart – we won't hurt ya!" One voice hollered.

"We just wanna talk!" Another came.

_Bullshit_, she thought. They'd already taken her family to God knows where and done God knows what to them. She wasn't going to go without a fight.

She breathed deeply, bracing herself – she didn't have long now. Any minute, the Williamson gang bastards would break through the front door and storm the house, attempting to lay their grubby hands on her and her family's prized possessions. Annie turned her body slightly, trying to escape the situation for a moment.

Instead, looking at her face in the mirror brought it into context.

She was a pretty girl, just over twenty years old. But there was stress in her face – wrinkles were seemingly forming out of thin air in the corners of her eyes and on her brow. She sighed, running a hair through her mess of auburn hair, tying it up in a loose bun to keep it out of the way. Her clothes were fairly well-worn; there was no way they would give up her status, inherited from her socialite parents. Indeed, the MacGillivray family was well known for having a fairly vast fortune – their success in the ranching and investment industries was infamous around these parts. But Annie chose not to partake in such things, preferring to live life on the wild side and run rampant.

Suddenly, the bang of the front door made her jump. She was distracted from her momentary pause, hand jumping back to the pistol and drawing it. Her teeth grit together knowing the inevitable was coming. Annie could hear the bootsteps of one of Williamson's goons drawing near. Her breath came sharp, and she held it, coming around the corner with her trigger finger ready.

There was no turning back now.

Without a second thought she fired, striking the dirty looking man in the chest and sending him to the ground. With a look of disgust, she jumped over the corpse and barricaded herself behind the door frame, watching as more men came up on the front porch to make an assault on the house.

Alice began firing again, one by one taking out her assailants. The girl was a sharp shooter, there was no doubt about it. She'd learned well from her father through the years, and now, she was grateful for his tutelage.

She ran, not thinking whether or not the entirety of the gang had been slain. A saddled bay horse off in towards the property entrance was her goal – if she could just get on its back, she'd be off – home free – and headed in the direction of safety.

Never in her life had she run this fast. Even as the sting of a bullet pierced her shoulder, she kept running, not even noticing the blood that started gushing from the wound. Her heart was racing at a million miles an hour as she reached the horse and swung herself up into the saddle, yelling a massive "HYAH!" and kicking it square in the ribs. The bay moved off at a gallop.

She was free.


	2. Chapter I  Notions of Uncertainty

Once again, Rockstar owns John Marston and its lovely fictional locations.

Sorry for the wait on this chapter - I've been busy and museless. Enjoy!

* * *

The sun was beginning to set over the state of New Austin, brilliant hues of orange and red lighting up the desert sky. Hints of darkness began to fall, stars starting to flicker in the darkening blue sky.

John Marston pulled his duster tightly around him, adjusting the leather coat to cover most of his torso. The desert nights were certainly cooler than the heat of the day – his experience had certainly taught him that.

He'd been on the road for so long now. It was almost as if this fight for redemption from his past was consuming him heart and soul. He grimaced, scarred face tightening to a scowl as he rode, spurring his palomino into a lope, as if the speed would eliminate the thoughts from his head.

Whether or not this journey would reward him, he wasn't sure. There was just something about those bastard government agents that he couldn't trust – but he had to hold on to the hope that they'd pull through and return his family to him safely. He wanted so desperately to return to his home, his wife, his son, and his land – perhaps he would never escape the life of an outlaw in his past, but that was where it was. Behind him. He was ready to move on and start anew; but it seemed as if the law wasn't necessarily in such easy agreement.

His train of thought was brought to a grinding halt when the horse stopped abruptly, tossing its head and whinnying in irritation. Something had startled it – exactly what, John wasn't sure. He squinted through the growing darkness to look off in the distance, spotting a riderless horse against the dying sun.

"Heh," He grunted to himself, urging the horse forward again. The creature went with some hesitation, for some reason or another. Curious really, why anyone would be out here at this time of night…but who was he to say what was strange, and what wasn't?

As he approached, John pulled his horse up, angling himself to the side to look down in the brush. Hidden beneath thick shrubs was a person, breath shaky, with mild groans coming from its mouth. His face hardened, and he dismounted. The woman beneath the prickly bushes was bleeding from the shoulder, presumably from a gun-shot wound; she was pale, her lips taking on a shade of blue that was reminiscent of someone getting close to crossing the Rubicon and meeting up with the past. He grunted again, bending down next to hear and taking a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Hold on there ma'am, I'm gonna help you out. Just sit still, you hear?" He didn't wait for a response, tying the handkerchief around the dip in her shoulder and armpit so as to hope to stop the bleeding.

With a makeshift tourniquet in place, he slung the girl up on his shoulders. He slumped her in the front of his saddle, catching her horse by the bridle and leading it over towards his. Mounting again, he pulled the other horse closer and wrapped his arm around the girl, spurring his horse into a gallop and heading off in the direction of Armadillo.

The horse was burdened slightly by the weight of two people, but she had carried them before - as John rode, he considered this thought, the circumstances that now had him carrying an injured woman into Armadillo to seek medical treatment. Indeed, he was used to carrying some sort of ruffian on the back of his horse rather than the front, shouting choice words like "Shut your damn mouth!" or "I'll put a bullet through your head!" Yes, he had certainly seen his fair share of rescues aside from dragging in outlaws, but this one was different; this time, it was a life-and-death situation. Unlike his forays with Nigel West Dickens, he didn't even have a chance to speak to the woman before he whisked her off. But this was him - an occasionally chivalrous, ex-outlaw turned theoretical "good guy".

Another moan came from the injured woman, her skin turning a sicker shade of green. He didn't have much time now. "Lets go!" He shouted to the palomino mare, encouraging her to go faster. The horse sensed John's urgency, picking up her pace. They were closer now, so close - John could see the lights of Armadillo against the dying sun. The saloon would be a bustle tonight, and he hoped he'd catch the surgeon before he headed off to whatever night time adventures he'd find there.

It wouldn't be the first time John had galloped like a bat out of hell into Armadillo - he wondered if the citizens had come to expect it. He brought with him a trail of dust, now having to hold the girl to the saddle with one of his arms, her body growing limper by the second as she lost more blood. "Stay alive, dammit!" The gristly voice cried, his hands bringing the horse to a halt and his body immediately dismounting, steadying the girl as he did so and cradling her in his arms.


End file.
